


Behind the Wheel

by GreyMichaela



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Body insecurity, Demisexuality, Hand Jobs, Jordie's a little shit and I love him, M/M, References to Past Bullying, Tyler needs to get his shit together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 05:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16443500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela
Summary: It takes Tyler awhile to realize he might have a thing for his new captain





	Behind the Wheel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spoodlemonkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/gifts).



> So here it is, my very first RPF. Nobody look at me. **This is a story about real people. If you found it by Googling yourself or your friends, I suggest you do us all a favor and hit that there back button, pal.**
> 
> Also I'm sure there are inaccuracies, such as Radulov not being on their line when Tyler first came to Dallas. I wrote this in a fever-induced haze so please pretend my errors aren't there and just enjoy the morons angsting about each other.
> 
> This fic is for Kelly, who shares my love for these two idiots.
> 
> (If you're just here because you're one of my readers and not into hockey players, just pretend they're original characters. It should work out. ;)

Tyler is at home when he hears the news. _Traded to the Stars_. His agent is apologetic when he calls to tell him.

“I did what I could,” he says, and Tyler can’t find it in himself to reassure him. Instead he hangs up and turns on SportsNet.

They’re talking about him.

_Smartest thing the Bruins have done all season._

_Loose cannon._

_Kid makes Justin Bieber look like the pinnacle of maturity._

_He’s a train wreck, plain and simple. Doesn’t matter how good with a puck he is, he can’t control himself off the ice. No team needs that._

Tyler grabs the hockey stick leaning against the wall and smashes the television with it. It doesn’t make him feel better, so he does it again, and then again, until the television’s frame is cracked and warped, the screen shattered.

Tyler drops the stick. He wants to cry, traitorous eyes burning, so he does the next best thing—he shoves his shoes on and goes for a run.

He pushes himself to his limits, until his lungs are burning even more than his eyes and his legs are wobbly. Finally, spent, he drags himself back to his apartment and into the kitchen for some water. His body is exhausted but his mind is still running on a loop of _not good enough they didn’t want you not good enough not good enough_. He hurls the glass against the wall and grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes.

When he checks his phone, there are messages from an unknown number.

The first one reads, _Hey man, welcome to Dallas! Let me know when your flight gets in and I’ll pick you up from the airport._

Next message: _Sorry, this is Jamie._

And then the last message, sent thirty seconds later: _Benn. Jamie Benn. I’m… the captain of the Stars. Sorry._

Tyler stares at his phone for a few minutes before deleting the messages. He doesn’t tell Jamie when his flight is, but he saves him as a contact in his address book.

 

Dallas is flatter than he’s used to, and the cab driver is far too chatty, commenting on everything they pass, pointing out things he thinks Tyler will be interested in and asking him where he’s from and what he does. He’s clearly thrown when Tyler tells him he plays professional hockey, but rallies gamely.

“I’ve never been to a game, but I’ve heard good things,” he says. “It’s the… Suns? Wait, no—the Stars. Maybe I’ll come see you play!”

Tyler stares out the window and doesn’t answer.

His hotel room is nice, at least—spacious and welcoming, with one of those little mints Tyler loves on the pillow. He decides he deserves it and pops it in his mouth before pulling the curtains back to survey the Dallas cityscape.

It’s not as bad as he’d thought. Dallas is big, there are probably plenty of things to do. Maybe some of them will involve cowboy hats, but a city this size has to have more than a few good gay bars. He makes a resolution to look for some after he gets something to eat.

He should also probably let his captain know he’s landed, he thinks with a quickly stifled pang of guilt.

Jamie’s response is quick. _I was going to pick you up!_ and a sad face. _Let me at least take you out to dinner, welcome you to Dallas properly?_

Tyler rubs his face. He can’t think of a way to politely refuse. _Okay_ , he sends. _Hilton, room 567_.

 _See you at 7?_ This time there’s a smiley face accompanying.

Tyler stifles a groan. _Sure._

 

At 6:55, his phone rings.

“Mr. Seguin,” the person on the other end says, pronouncing his name wrong, with the emphasis on the second syllable, “there’s a Jamie Benn in the lobby for you.”

“Thanks,” Tyler says. He doesn’t bother correcting her pronunciation, just hangs up and pulls on his coat.

Jamie is sitting on a couch in the lobby, knees together and back straight. His face lights up when Tyler appears and he bounces to his feet. Ignoring the hand Tyler holds out, he pulls him into a hug.

Tyler wheezes and Jamie releases him quickly, apologizing.

“Sorry,” he says, his soft Canadian vowels sounding like home to Tyler’s ears after being assaulted on all sides by twangy Texas accents. “Mom always says I need to respect people’s personal space more.” He’s actually _blushing_ , Tyler realizes with amazement. “How was your flight?”

“It was fine,” Tyler says. He doesn’t say that half the reason he’s breathless is because Jamie is _far_ more attractive in person than Tyler had expected. Pictures didn’t do him justice, Tyler thinks, giving him a surreptitious once-over as Jamie leads him to the door. He’s big— _6’2_ , Tyler’s brain helpfully supplies—which means he only has an inch on Tyler, but his frame is broad and solid, making Tyler feel almost small beside him. It’s not a sensation Tyler’s used to, but he’s not opposed, he decides. His hair is objectively terrible, far too much gel and swept back off his forehead, but his cheekbones are killer and his _eyes_ —Tyler can barely look away. He’s never seen such beautiful eyes, so huge and expressive.

Jamie’s talking, and Tyler makes an effort to listen.

“—have a dog, right?”

Tyler perks up. “Yeah. Marshall. I’m going to bring him down once I get a place.”

“You’ll have to bring him over,” Jamie says. They’re in the parking lot and Jamie points to a truck. Tyler holds in a snort. Of course Jamie has a truck.

“Does anyone in this state drive anything besides pickups?” he asks as he’s buckling.

Jamie’s laugh is delighted and Tyler wants to hear more of it. “It’s so stupid, isn’t it? Like, we don’t even _need_ trucks, we don’t work on ranches. We’re not slinging around bales of hay or feeding livestock from the back of them, so why the fuck do we buy them?”

“It’s the state vehicle,” Tyler suggests, just to hear Jamie laugh again, and it works. Tyler’s chest feels a little looser as Jamie pulls out into traffic.

“I figured since this is your first official meal in Texas, a steakhouse is the only way to go,” he tells Tyler.

Tyler tears his attention away from Jamie’s big hands on the wheel and nods, probably a little manic. “Yep. Yeah. For sure. Sounds good.”

Jamie shoots him a puzzled look but doesn’t point out Tyler’s odd behavior. “So have you started looking for places yet?”

“Not really,” Tyler says. “I didn’t know what neighborhoods to look in, you know? I guess I should find a realtor and see what they can find for me.”

“Or….” Jamie drums his fingers against the wheel.

“Or?” Tyler prompts.

“There’s a place just went up for rent next to me,” Jamie says in a rush, like he’s not sure of Tyler’s reaction. “Maybe you wouldn’t want to be so close to me and Jordie, and that’s cool, it’s totally fine, it was a stupid idea, I just—”

“ _Jamie_ ,” Tyler cuts in. Jamie doesn’t look at him, eyes fixed on the road, but he stops babbling. “It’s not like I’d be living _with_ you. I’ll take a look at it, okay?”

Jamie’s smile is as devastating as the rest of him. “We could even carpool to practice! If, you know, you want to. You don’t have to.”

“Well, I don’t have a car,” Tyler points out. What was it with this guy? He seemed convinced Tyler would hate him, given half a chance. “So what can I expect from the team?”

Jamie’s answer keeps him going all the way through Dallas traffic and into the restaurant.

Settled at their table, Jamie gives Tyler a rueful smile. “I’ve been talking too much. Tell me about yourself.”

“I like listening to you,” Tyler says, only partly for the way Jamie blushes all the way to his ears. He shrugs. “Not much to tell. I’m single. Have a dog. Was in Boston, now I’m here.”

Jamie looks _sad_ , for some reason. “There’s more to you than that.”

“How would you know?” Tyler snaps, and instantly regrets it. He fiddles with his napkin. “Sorry,” he mutters to his hands. He glances up. “What about you?”

Jamie shrugs. “I’m single too. Hard to find someone who’ll put up with the lifestyle, you know? They think it’s hot until I’m gone for two weeks at a time, or I can’t eat the special cake they baked just for me, or when they realize I’m either working out, at practice, or playing an actual game.”

Tyler nods. “Sucks. You live alone, then?”

“Nah. My brother Jordie rooms with me. He’s an asshole but it’s good to have a familiar face around. Except when he gives me noogies.”

Tyler can’t help his laugh. “Are you guys twelve?”

Jamie grins as if delighted. “ _He_ seems to think so. But he’s a good player and a decent roomie, although if he’d wash a fucking dish in his life I’d die from shock.”

 

The server takes their order, and then they continue their conversation. Tyler is a little surprised at just how easy it is to talk to Jamie. There are a few awkward pauses, but for the most part, the discussion flows smoothly. Jamie wants to know everything about playing for Boston—their strengths, their weaknesses, the flaws in their defence. Tyler, seeing no reason to defend the team that couldn’t wait to be shut of him, has no problem telling him every tidbit he can think of.

They talk through the meal, pausing only briefly to savor their steaks—Jamie makes a moaning noise Tyler’s definitely _not_ into—and then pick it back up.

By the time they’re done, Tyler is relaxed and laughing, a little tipsy with the three glasses of wine he had with dinner. Jamie smiles at him.

“You want to come look at the place tomorrow?” he suggests.

Tyler nods enthusiastically enough that the room spins. He blinks hard and grabs the table until it’s steadied. Jamie’s smile widens.

“You always this much of a lightweight?”

Tyler points at him, feigning outrage. “I can drink you under the table any day of the week, pal.”

“Okay, Mr. Three Whole Glasses of Wine,” Jamie says. He’s clearly stifling laughter. “Come on, let’s get you back to the hotel.”

 

Tyler dozes off in the truck on the way back, a move he regrets because it means he can’t watch Jamie drive, something he’s decided is seriously sexy. Hopefully if they carpool, Jamie will be the one doing most of the driving.

Jamie shoots him an odd look. “At least until you buy a car,” he says.

Oops. That had been out loud. Tyler zips his mouth shut, making Jamie laugh again.

 

At the hotel, Tyler maybe plays up just how tipsy he really is, swaying on his feet until Jamie moves in and wraps a big arm around his waist.

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, and guides Tyler to the elevators. Tyler goes along willingly, enjoying Jamie’s bulk pressed up against him, but a melancholic turn hits him in the elevator, halfway to his room.

“They didn’t want me,” he whispers.

Jamie tightens his arm. “They’re stupid.”

Tyler can’t help himself, lonely and drunk and desperate for comfort. He turns his face into Jamie’s chest and takes a shaky breath.

“I can’t do anything right.”

Jamie turns him so they’re facing each other and then pulls him back into a hug, this time with both arms. Tyler closes his eyes and clings to Jamie’s shirt, inhaling the scent of him, woodsy with a hint of spice to it. He can hear Jamie’s heartbeat, slow and steady, and it eases the tightness in Tyler’s chest.

When the elevator dings for his floor, he lets go first, stepping away without meeting Jamie’s eyes. “I can take it from here,” he says, feet sinking soundlessly into the soft plush carpet.

Jamie follows him into the hall. “There’s practice tomorrow at nine. Do you think you can make it?”

Tyler scoffs. “‘Course.”

“Alright,” Jamie says. “I’ll pick you up at 8:30.” He smiles, a teasing edge to it. “You sure you can make it to your room?”

Tyler gives him a look. He means for it to be playful but he has a feeling it comes across as more seductive. “You wanna tuck me in, Benn?”

Jamie’s breath catches and the smile slides off his face. “I’ll see you in the morning.” His voice is clipped, and he spins on his heel and strides back to the elevator, leaving Tyler with the realization that he fucked up again sitting in his stomach like cold lead.

 

But the next morning, Jamie is as friendly as before, meeting Tyler’s eyes with no trace of hesitation, smile as wide as ever. He stops to get them breakfast at a place called Bob Evans, telling Tyler now he was a true Texan, he had to have their breakfast burritos.

And then they pull up to the rink and Tyler is following Jamie’s broad shoulders through the door and down the halls, decked out in green and white. A few guys greet them and Jamie stops and makes introductions each time. Tyler shakes hands and forgets names the second they’re out of sight, hurrying to keep up with Jamie’s long legs.

“I’ve watched tape of you, of course,” Jamie tells him as they change into their gear. There’s a brand new green and white jersey with a big 91 on it and Tyler’s name on the back, hanging in the stall Jamie indicates is his. It makes a lump swell in Tyler’s throat, but he swallows it down and puts on his pads and the jersey before bending to do up his skates.

“Is that good or bad?” he asks the floor.

Jamie just laughs. “Come on, I want to get out there before the other guys show up.”

 

The ice is nearly perfect under Tyler’s blades. He does his warm-ups and then pours on some speed, doing laps around Jamie, who has a puck and is doing something complicated with it.

“Passing drills!” Jamie calls, and sends the puck to Tyler with no more notice than that.

Tyler catches it on his tape and they’re off. At first Tyler holds back, not sure how fast Jamie is, but Jamie leaves him behind once, then twice, pulling up after the second time to give Tyler a weird look.

“I know you’ve got more than that, Segs.”

Tyler laughs with delight and explodes down the line, Jamie hot on his heels. They’re evenly matched—Tyler might be a touch faster but Jamie’s puck handling would make Tyler weep if he wasn’t so focused on keeping up with him.

They switch it up, going from passing drills to keep away and back again. Jamie is rarely fooled by Tyler’s dekes, staying on top of him with laser intensity, but when they switch to keep away, Tyler falls for almost every one of Jamie’s dekes and dangles.

He calls a halt finally, bending over and panting for air. “How the fuck—” he manages.

Jamie skates a lazy circle around him and Tyler can almost _feel_ the smug radiating off him.

Tyler straightens and points an accusing finger. “It’s the eyes.”

Jamie blinks, clearly thrown. “The what now?”

“Your eyes,” Tyler repeats. “They’re so big, and innocent, and sweet—‘oh, I wouldn’t hurt a fly, look at me I’m just a nice Canadian boy’—and I keep _falling_ for it and then you just play me right off my fucking skates!”

Jamie’s grinning by now. “So you’re a sucker for brown eyes, huh?”

Tyler scowls at him. “I’m onto you now, asshole. It won’t happen again.”

But it does, over and over until Tyler hurls his stick across the ice in frustration and Jamie doubles over with laughter.

“Chubbs, what are you doing to this poor boy?” someone calls.

Tyler turns to see a big man with an impressive ginger beard skating toward them. When he gets closer, he realizes the newcomer has eyes similar to Jamie’s—big and luminous, although not as pretty, in Tyler’s opinion—and a mouth that curls in a smile eerily like Jamie’s.

“Tyler, this is my brother Jordie,” Jamie says, sounding resigned. “Don’t believe a word he says.”

Jordie holds a hand. “Good to have you, Tyler, what do they call you?”

“Segs or Seggy,” Tyler says, shaking his hand. “It’s good to be here, I guess.”

Jordie’s eyes sharpen but he doesn’t touch that. “Chubbs, let’s have him over for dinner tonight.”

“Sounds good,” Jamie says. “Segs, we can look at that place this afternoon and then you can just chill with us until dinnertime, if you’re cool with that? I called the realtor before I picked you up, she’s free after three today.”

Tyler considers his alternative—dinner alone in a strange city and a barren hotel room. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out his answer.

 

The rest of practice is surprisingly pleasant. The team is friendly and welcoming and no one seems inclined to bring up Tyler’s past sins, or why he was sent to Dallas in the first place. Tyler finds himself slowly relaxing, sitting in the recliner beside Jamie as the coach runs through plays.

He showers, changes, and rides to Jamie’s and Jordie’s place with them, sitting in the front and watching Jamie’s profile out of the corner of his eye while Jordie provides running commentary on people they pass on the street.

A ribald comment about a pretty girl makes Jamie snap. “You say another word disrespecting women and I’m telling Mom,” he says tightly, hands gripping the wheel hard enough the leather creaks.

That makes Jordie shape up, and he’s more circumspect with his comments after that. Tyler says nothing, watching them both as much as he can without being obvious.

 

The Benn house is big, a wrought-iron gate and brick walls surrounding it, and they roll slowly up the drive as Tyler takes in the view, the manicured lawn and honest-to-God _fountains_.

“You need a few peacocks,” he comments as Jamie parks in front of the white-pillared house.

Jordie perks up. “What a fantastic idea. Chubbs, I’m getting some peacocks.”

“You are _not_ ,” Jamie growls, shooting Tyler a betrayed look. “Let me call the realtor and see when she can be here.”

Half an hour, it turns out, enough time for Jamie to make Tyler a margarita and show him some of the house. When his phone rings, they hurry outside and down to the gate, where the realtor is sitting in her SUV. She hops out and beams at them, tiny and perky, with her blonde hair pulled up in a swingy ponytail.

Her name is Courtney and she is thrilled, _thrilled,_ to show the house to Tyler. They walk next door and Tyler’s first thought is _too big_ , but he says nothing, not wanting to disappoint Courtney. Jamie stays close to Tyler’s side as he steps through into a marble foyer that echoes with their footsteps.

“Put a few rugs down,” Courtney says, “some nice art on the walls to welcome guests—perfect!”

That’s her catchphrase, Tyler learns quickly. The master bedroom is ‘perfect!’ for a king-size bed and an armchair by the window. The master bathroom’s huge tub is ‘perfect!’ for soaking out the aches and pains of a long day at the rink. The dining room is ‘perfect!’ for entertaining up to twenty people at a time.

By now, Tyler is desperately holding his breath to keep from giggling every time she says the word as she leads them through into the kitchen. Beside him, he can _feel_ Jamie vibrating with suppressed laughter, and Tyler very carefully doesn’t look at him.

“So what do you think?” Courtney asks when the tour is concluded.

“I think it’s perfect,” Tyler tells her, and Jamie snorts loudly, turning it into a cough halfway through. “I’ll take it.”

 

Six months pass and Tyler settles into a comfortable routine. Even though he buys a car—not a truck—he still rides with Jamie to practice. He says it’s to save on gas costs, and admits only to himself that it’s more about how hot Jamie looks behind the wheel.

Because Jamie’s not available. He’s funny, he’s smart, he’s shy and sweet, and he doesn’t date. These are things everyone knows. _Don’t bother trying to set Chubbs up with anyone, it won’t happen_.

One night, a few months into the season, high on a win, Tyler finds the courage to ask him why not. They’re at a bar, the rest of the team raucous and laughing around them, but their area is enclosed, a bubble of peace in the middle of the hurricane.

Jamie looks uncharacteristically sad, fiddling with his beer stein. His hair has come loose from the gel and is falling forward over his forehead.

“It just never works out,” he finally says.

“But do you _want_ to date?” Tyler persists.

Jamie shoots him an unreadable look. “It doesn’t matter,” he finally says. “There’s a pretty girl over by the bar, she’s been eyeing you all night. You should go talk to her.”

Tyler looks. The girl _is_ pretty, tall, white, brunette and curvy, with big brown eyes. She catches Tyler’s stare and blushes, ducking her head. Tyler clears his throat.

“Get the fuck going,” Jamie says, sounding almost amused. “Don’t bother coming back without her number.”

Tyler doesn’t come back with her number. Instead, he leaves with her, a hand on the small of her back, and he doesn’t glance behind him at the table where Jamie is sitting.

 

The thing is… the thing is, Amber’s great. She is. She likes hockey and knows enough to keep up when Tyler gets going on a bad call or a play that went wrong. She’s funny—has Tyler in stitches with her impressions of comedians. And she’s _kind_ —she teaches kindergarten, for Christ’s sake, Tyler tells himself, staring up at the ceiling in his bedroom as Amber dozes beside him.

 

He breaks up with her after three months, and when she asks why, he can’t give her a reason.

 

After Amber, there’s a string of a meaningless hookups. Tyler is careful not to tell them who he is, although a few recognize him. None of it means a damn thing, and he feels more and more hollow inside with each encounter.

He forces himself to focus on hockey, concentrating on honing his play, getting faster, stronger, more in tune with Jamie and his right winger, Radulov. Rads is talented, although he’s not quite on the same wavelength as Tyler and Jamie, but all in all, their line is gelling. It’s good, Tyler tells himself.

 

His second serious relationship is with a man ten years older than him, who saw Tyler in a bar one night and sent him drinks until Tyler went to talk to him. Chris is black, mid-thirties, with hair thinning on top, a mischievous mouth, and sharp brown eyes. He’s not a hockey fan—barely knows one end of a stick from the other—but he listens when Tyler talks and asks intelligent questions and comes to every game he can manage. He’s a lawyer, so he’s used to long, weird hours and isn’t offended when Tyler leaves for away games for weeks at a time. His Skype game is strong, in fact, and Tyler’s pretty sure he’s never come that hard with his own hand before.

 

He breaks up with Tyler after two and a half months, and cups Tyler’s face in both hands when Tyler asks why.

“Because you’re not _here_ ,” he says gently.

“I’m—I told you, I can’t do anything about the game schedule,” Tyler says. His eyes are stinging and the tightness in his chest is back. He’s fucked up _again_.

“I’m not talking about the game schedule,” Chris says, his voice still so gentle, like Tyler is a child in need of comfort.

Tyler pulls away and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Oh, Ty,” Chris says. He sounds so _sad_. “I could so easily fall in love with you.”

“Why can’t you?” Tyler asks, spinning back to face him. “I’m right here, Chris, what’s wrong with me?”

Chris makes an aborted movement, like he wants to touch him, comfort him. “That’s something you need to figure out for yourself,” he says. “But there’s nothing wrong with you, okay?”

“Sure,” Tyler sneers, turning away. He doesn’t look back, waiting until Chris sighs and leaves, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Marshall whines and shoves his cold nose into Tyler’s hand. Tyler drops to his knees and pulls the big Lab into a hug, and if a few tears fall into his soft coat, he knows Marshall will never tell.

 

He stops dating after that, and starts spending all his time at Jamie’s and Jordie’s. He brings food sometimes, so they don’t get tired of him, and beer almost always. When a set of silver bowls appears in the kitchen by the refrigerator, one with water and the other filled with what Tyler knows is an expensive brand of dog food, he has to fight the urge to hug both Benn brothers.

Instead, he challenges them to a Mario Kart race, sandwiched between them on the couch, and celebrates as obnoxiously as possible when he wins. Jordie rolls his eyes but Jamie’s laughing, watching Tyler’s attempt at Gangnam style with what looks almost like affection.

“You’re a terrible dancer,” he says. “I hope you don’t use those moves to pick up, because I’m not sure how you ever get laid if so.”

Jordie gets up to gather dishes and Tyler flings himself back onto the couch. He shoves his toes under Jamie’s muscled thigh until Jamie twitches and grabs Tyler’s ankles, pulling his feet up and depositing them in his lap.

Tyler forgets to breathe as Jamie sets to work massaging Tyler’s foot, thumbs digging into the soft tissue until Tyler makes a noise.

“Too much?” Jamie asks, looking up.

Tyler manages to shake his head no, and Jamie gives him a breathtakingly sweet smile and goes back to his task until Tyler’s a boneless lump of pleasure, half-melted into the couch and whimpering happily.

Jordie sighs noisily when he sees Tyler sprawled across his spot. “Guess I’ll sit _elsewhere_ ,” he snipes, but neither Tyler nor Jamie pay him much attention. Jordie flops in a chair opposite and turns on SportsNet—they’re talking about the Canucks game the night before, so Tyler doesn’t feel bad about not listening.

He falls asleep that way, Jamie still massaging his feet.

 

When he wakes up, Jamie’s in the same spot but he’s not rubbing Tyler’s feet anymore, even though they’re both still in his lap. Instead he has one big hand on Tyler’s ankle, thumb sweeping back and forth over the bone absently as he reads on his phone.

Jordie is nowhere to be seen. Tyler stays perfectly still, not wanting Jamie to know he’s awake, wanting Jamie to keep touching him, _wanting_ —

He must make a sound, because Jamie’s thumb stops.

“Segs?” he says, voice hushed.

Tyler considers pretending he’s still asleep, but Jamie knows him too well.

“Your breathing changed,” he says. “Nice nap?”

Tyler pokes Jamie’s thigh with his toe and doesn’t answer. Jamie twitches, so Tyler does it again, prodding the hard muscle until Jamie yelps and grabs Tyler’s ankle.

“What— _stop_ , I’m ticklish!”

 _That_ makes Tyler open his eyes and grin, knowing Jamie can see the devil in them. Sure enough, Jamie glares, trying to make himself look forbidding, but Tyler ignores it. He rolls upright and lunges, fingers unerring in their aim. He finds Jamie’s ribs and Jamie _squeaks_ , making Tyler falter because Jamie is many things but he’s never been adorable before.

Still. Tyler’s a man on a mission here. He manages to get a leg over Jamie’s lap, holding him down as Jamie bucks and twists, flailing wildly but unable to unseat him as Tyler runs his fingers up and down Jamie’s ribs, digging into the soft tissue above his hips.

Jamie freezes and then _shoves_ , knocking Tyler off his lap and onto the floor. He’s on his feet in the next instant, stalking out of the room.

Tyler lies on his back as Marshall licks his face, trying to figure out what he did wrong.

Finally, Tyler goes in search, but Jamie’s vanished. He’s not in his room, he’s not in the backyard, and a quick check confirms his truck is gone from the garage.

Tyler is stumped. He sends Jamie a text— _hey what the fuck_ —but Jamie doesn’t respond. So Tyler does the next best thing—he goes to Jordie, Marshall hard on his heels.

Jordie’s in his room, some sort of obnoxious music blaring, but he opens when Tyler bangs on the door. “ _What_?”

“I fucked up but I don’t know how,” Tyler says baldly.

Jordie gives him a narrow look but finally sighs and opens the door so Tyler can come inside.

Tyler opts for the beanbag over the bed—and Jordie is getting so much chirping for having a beanbag once Tyler’s figured out this Jamie situation—and Marshall collapses happily on the floor at his feet.

“What happened?” Jordie asks.

“I was asleep,” Tyler starts.

“Like an angel,” Jordie confirms. Tyler bestows a withering glare on him and Jordie tries unsuccessfully to muffle his laughter as he motions Tyler to keep going.

“ _Anyway_ , when I woke up, Jamie and I sort of….”

“Worked out your sexual tension?” Jordie suggests.

“What? _No_!” Tyler glares but Jordie appears unrepentant. “There _is_ no sexual tension, what’s wrong with you?”

“Many, many things,” Jordie says cryptically, “but my eyesight isn’t one of them. Please continue.”

“We got in a tickle fight is all,” Tyler says, mulish.

“Ah.”

“‘Ah’?” Tyler echoes. “What’s ‘ah’? What the _fuck_ is going on?”

“Did you tickle his ribs?”

“Well yeah, because that’s the most ticklish spot, right? And just above his hips, and then he just—he practically threw me across the room and took off. He’s _gone_ , Jordie, he’s not answering texts, and _I don’t know what I did_.”

There’s something like sympathy on Jordie’s face. “What’s his nickname, Tyler?”

“Chubbs,” Tyler says immediately. “Because he was fat as a kid, right? And he’s still got those apple cheeks.”

Jordie doesn’t say anything, eyebrows raised as if waiting for Tyler to finish his thought.

Tyler has been accused of many things, but not stupidity. “He’s self-conscious?” he says. He feels like he’s been smacked in the face, gaping faintly at Jordie, who still says nothing. “But—he walks around the locker room naked or half-naked all the fucking time! I’ve _seen_ his body! What’s he got to be self-conscious about?”

Jordie shrugs. “You’ve seen yourself, right?”

Tyler scrambles to his feet, making Marshall start and look around for the threat. “This is bullshit. He’s comparing himself to _me_? We’re built completely differently!”

Jordie shrugs again, spreading his hands. “All I’m saying is, you’ve got those washboard fucking abs even _I’d_ go gay for, and his nickname is _Chubbs_. Is this really a surprise?”

“I’m—I can’t—” Tyler has to find Jamie. _Has_ to. Has to find him and make him see, make him _realize_ —

Jordie waves him off. “Try the golf range.”

But Tyler doesn’t have to go that far. He isn’t even to the gate when it slides back and Jamie’s truck rolls through. Jamie hits the brakes when he sees him, but Tyler doesn’t give him a chance to say anything. Instead he wrenches the driver’s side door open and climbs in, flinging a leg over Jamie’s thighs and settling himself firmly across his lap.

“What the _fuck_ —” Jamie starts, and Tyler kisses him.

Jamie makes a muffled noise against Tyler’s mouth but he doesn’t push him away, he’s kissing back, his hands are coming up to settle on Tyler’s waist as his mouth opens and he _moans_ , the noise shooting straight to Tyler’s groin. Jamie’s mouth is wet and sweet and he kisses with wild abandon, like he thought he’d never have this, like he thinks it’ll be taken away at any second.

Tyler pulls back, panting, and Jamie protests wordlessly. Tyler cups his face, stroking a thumb over Jamie’s cheekbone.

“You’re really fucking hot,” he husks, “and I’ve wanted you since you hugged me in the lobby of my hotel. You’re awkward and weird and your hair is terrible—” Jamie’s face clouds, but Tyler’s not done. “—and I can’t stop fucking thinking about you. I want—” He hesitates.

“What?” Jamie says, his voice careful, almost tentative.

“I want _you_ ,” Tyler says bluntly. “All of you, Ch—Jamie. Every last goddamn inch.”

“You can call me Chubbs,” Jamie says. His hands are wandering, one slipping under Tyler’s shirt and the other roaming down his thigh where it’s braced between Jamie’s leg and the door. “I’m used to it, it doesn’t bother me.”

Tyler bends to kiss him again. It’s even better this time, even though his left knee is jammed into the gear shift and his ass is wedged awkwardly against the steering wheel, because Jamie is hot and willing and he kisses like he’s memorizing Tyler’s mouth, hands splayed across Tyler’s chest by now.

When he breaks the kiss this time, Tyler can’t get a deep breath. He rests his forehead against Jamie’s, smelling hair gel and Jamie’s aftershave. His heart is a tender, swollen thing in his chest. He twines his arms around Jamie’s neck.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey back,” Jamie murmurs, a smile curving his mouth. “Maybe we should get out of the driveway.”

Tyler makes a noise to convey how displeased he is with this idea, but grudgingly slides sideways until he’s tucked up under Jamie’s arm.

Jamie laughs quietly, ribs vibrating. “Need that arm to drive, Seggy.”

“Not if we’re just going to my place,” Tyler points out, and Jamie goes very still. Tyler tips his head to look up at him. “We can go to yours if you want,” he offers, unsure how he’s misstepped this time, “but your brother is there, and he has a _beanbag chair_ —” He shudders theatrically and is rewarded by a genuine Jamie laugh as he puts the truck in reverse.

 

At Tyler’s house, Tyler scrambles out of the truck and around to the driver’s side before Jamie’s even unbuckled. Jamie’s smiling as he steps down and gathers Tyler close. Tyler plasters himself against Jamie’s chest, delighting in how solid he is. Jamie wraps one arm around Tyler’s waist and cups his jaw with the other.

“I thought you didn’t date,” Tyler’s treacherous mouth says, and Jamie’s eyebrows go up. “Shit,” Tyler says, pulling away. “Um. Sorry. I just—”

Jamie captures Tyler’s hand. “Let’s go inside.”

With Marshall still at the other house, Tyler’s place feels weirdly empty, but he leads the way into the living room and they settle on the huge overstuffed sofa.

“Do you want a drink?” Tyler asks belatedly.

Jamie laughs openly. “I’m not a guest, you idiot. Now shut up and listen.” Tyler faces him, crossing his legs on the cushion, and Jamie reaches out, cupping Tyler’s knee with one warm palm. “I’m not a virgin,” he starts, and Tyler sighs with exaggerated relief. “Shut _up_ ,” Jamie says, suppressed laughter thrumming in his voice. “I’ve dated before. But I never felt—it didn’t feel the way the movies and books say it’s supposed to. It was just… something I did because it was expected of me. I tried with a few different people and it never happened, so I… stopped.”

“What never happened?” Tyler asks.

Jamie moves before Tyler can react, tipping him over backward and bracing his weight above him. He lowers his head and noses along Tyler’s jaw, breath hot on his skin. When he opens his mouth and sets his teeth gently under Tyler’s ear, Tyler shudders all over and makes an embarrassing whimpering noise.

Jamie pulls back even as Tyler tries to keep him in place. He looks unbearably smug.

“ _That_ never happened,” he said.

Tyler drags himself upright, adjusting himself in his pants. It’s a small comfort that Jamie’s as hard as he is, a bulge straining against his sweatpants and wet spot forming. Tyler licks his lips.

“Jamie,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Jamie, please, can I—”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, and he sounds just as wrecked.

Tyler moans with gratitude and dives forward, yanking Jamie’s pants down over his hips and dragging his shirt up over his head. Jamie’s hair is even worse when he emerges from the neck hole, spiky like a hedgehog, and Tyler can’t stop the laughter, pressing kisses to Jamie’s disgruntled face as he pets it back into place.

“Better,” he murmurs. Then he leans back to take in the full view of Jamie, naked on his couch, and is struck speechless. “Christ,” he whispers to himself. “You’re like a fucking… Renaissance painting or something. You’re so fucking beautiful, Jamie, I don’t even know where to _start_.”

“Kiss me some more,” Jamie suggests, and Tyler is happy to oblige, mouths sliding together slick and soft as Jamie pulls Tyler’s clothes off, slow and clumsy like he doesn’t know where his hands are because he’s too focused on Tyler’s mouth. When Tyler is naked too, he can’t resist wrapping a hand around his length and giving himself one slow, delicious stroke.

Jamie’s eyes darken and he reaches for him but Tyler shakes his head.

“Tell me, first.”

Jamie’s brows knit. “What? How gorgeous you are? You _know_ you’re gorgeous, Segs, come on—”

“No,” Tyler says, stubborn as ever. “Tell me how I touched you that made you freak out so bad. I need to know so I never do it again.”

Jamie’s eyes soften and this time when he reaches out, Tyler lets him, tucking his head under Jamie’s chin and listening to his heartbeat.

It takes Jamie a few minutes to find the words. Tyler waits, running his palm over Jamie’s pec.

“You know I was fat as a kid,” Jamie finally says.

Tyler nods against his chest.

“There was this kid at school,” Jamie says, taking a deep breath. “His favorite thing to do was sneak up behind me and grab my love handles and jiggle them. Usually called me shit like the Pillsbury Doughboy because twelve year olds are not original.”

Tyler tamps down the rage, the protective fury that has no outlet, and forces himself to listen.

“He did it every day,” Jamie continues. “Until everyone in the locker room knew what was coming. They thought it was hilarious, and I don’t know, maybe from the outside, it was.”

“ _No_ ,” Tyler snarls, lifting his head. Jamie looks startled at the vehemence. “It’s _not_ funny. Not to anyone. Not ever. It’s fucking _cruel_ , Jamie.”

Jamie’s mouth twists but his hands are gentle when he pulls Tyler back down against him. “Anyway. Over a year of that, until I hit my growth spurt and he and the other bullies decided there were easier targets.”

Tyler sits up. “I’m sorry,” he says, meaning it maybe more than he ever has. “I didn’t know, but I made you feel bad and… I’m sorry, Jamie.”

Before Jamie can speak, Tyler bends and presses a kiss to Jamie’s belly. He’s rewarded with a sharp intake of breath, and Tyler smiles against the skin and kisses him again, working his way slowly but surely to Jamie’s side.

He stops when he gets there, glancing up to make sure it’s okay, that he’s not overstepping Jamie’s boundaries.

Jamie is watching him, his eyes soft with an emotion that makes Tyler swallow hard against the lump in his throat. He opens his mouth to say something, reconsiders, shakes his head and bends to press a long, slow, wet kiss to where Jamie’s love handles would have been.

Jamie takes another shaky breath and slides his hand into Tyler’s hair as Tyler peppers the area with kisses and nuzzles and the occasional long, luxurious swipe of his tongue. When he’s satisfied the area has been thoroughly worshiped, he repeats the process on the other side, until Jamie is shaking underneath him, twisting and begging.

“Tyler, Ty—” Jamie’s voice is ruined, Tyler notes with satisfaction. “Baby, if you don’t get your mouth on my cock soon, I’m _gonna die_.”

“Baby?” Tyler says, sitting up.

Jamie makes a noise between a groan and a sob. “It just slipped out, it’ll never happen again, I’m sorry, just _please_ —”

“Say it again,” Tyler interrupts.

Jamie covers his face briefly. When he pulls his hands away, his eyes are wet. “Baby,” he says softly. “Tyler, baby, _please—_ ”

Tyler sucks him in with one smooth motion, pinning Jamie’s hips to the couch with one arm when he bucks up. He groans—Jamie feels and tastes better than Tyler had ever imagined, and wraps his free hand around the base of Jamie’s cock as he begins to bob his head in earnest.

Jamie’s talking, he realizes after a few minutes, in faint amazement.

“First time I saw you,” he pants as Tyler works, one hand in Tyler’s hair, “I wanted— _God_ —I wanted to kiss you, I wanted to pin you against the truck and just… _wreck_ you. Fuck, baby, just like that, I swear your mouth is magic—”

Tyler pulls off and stares at him. “If you can talk, I’m not doing my job right.”

Jamie tightens his grip in Tyler’s hair. “I’m not using brain cells,” he says, and the way his voice is breathless and desperate makes warmth expand in Tyler’s chest. “I’m just… it’s talk or blow my load too soon. Please, Segs, please—”

Tyler takes pity on him and goes back to work as Jamie starts babbling again. He swirls his tongue around the thick, flared head of Jamie’s cock, savoring the salty, bitter flavor of Jamie’s pre-come. One quick pump of his hand, then another, and he swallows Jamie down, relaxing until he can feel the head nudging the back of his throat, and then sinks _lower_ as Jamie swears thickly above him, strung taut and shaking, sweat beading his skin with the effort of holding back.

“Tyler,” he chokes out. “Baby please, I’m gonna—”

Tyler pulls off again. “You can come in my mouth,” he says, and Jamie nearly _sobs_ , clutching at his own hair and writhing. Tyler bends and takes him back in, and it’s only a handful of minutes before Jamie stiffens and his cock pulses, flooding Tyler’s mouth with come. Jamie pushes weakly at Tyler’s shoulder when the stimulation becomes too much, and Tyler pulls away, but he doesn’t go far, pressing soft kisses up and down Jamie’s shaft.

Jamie tightens his hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “Come here,” he whispers.

Tyler goes gladly, stretching out full length on top of Jamie’s solid body, knowing he can take his weight. They kiss languidly for several long minutes, no rush despite Tyler’s erection demanding attention. He focuses instead on the small noises that fall from Jamie’s mouth, the quiet sighs and happy hums as his hands roam.

“You’ve been driving me nuts,” he murmurs when Tyler breaks away and kisses along Jamie’s perfect jaw.

“ _I’ve_ been driving _you_ nuts?” Tyler says incredulously, lifting his head.

Jamie grins up at him, sated and far too pleased with himself. “You’re allergic to clothes and you walk around with that perfect fucking body on display and it makes me want to just hold you down and make you _beg_.”

Tyler’s breath dies in his throat and he swallows hard. “I’m—uh—”

Jame looks intrigued, propping himself on his elbows. “Well, I know what we’re doing sometime _very_ soon. Right now, though, get up here.”

He clearly wants Tyler in his mouth, and while any other time, Tyler would be more than happy to oblige, right now he has a different idea.

He sits up and straddles Jamie’s hips. Jamie rests his hands on Tyler’s thighs, smiling up at him.

“You’re big, but you still need to get closer if you want me to suck you off.”

“I don’t,” Tyler says, then corrects himself. “I mean, I _do_ , but not this time. I want—can I have your hand?"

Jamie’s expression softens. “You can have all of me,” he says quietly, and Tyler is forced to bend and kiss him again.

When he straightens, he guides Jamie’s hand to his shaft, an involuntary noise ripping from his throat as Jamie closes his grip and _strokes_.

“ _Fuck_ —” Tyler plants both hands on Jamie’s chest, rolling his hips into his hand. The pleasure sparks along his nerve endings, making him shiver as if there’s lightning gathering under his skin. He feels lit from the inside out, like he’d flood the room with light if he opened his mouth.

Jamie’s talking _again_ , and Tyler struggles to make out the words over the roaring in his ears.

“—gonna fuck you,” Jamie says, conversational except for the slight hitch in his voice. “Would you like that?”

Tyler’s hips jerk and he hunches forward, fighting off the orgasm.

“You can come,” Jamie says, still as calm as if he’s discussing dinner plans. “We’re going to do this a _lot_. I think next time, I’m going to bend you over the back of the couch and fuck you until you cry. Would you like that?”

Tyler grabs himself, hand around Jamie’s, as the orgasm rips through him. He forgets how to breathe, how to _think,_ everything except the pleasure currently setting every nerve on fire, but he has just enough presence of mind to angle himself so his come stripes across Jamie’s stomach and hip. His limbs are like rubber, but he manages to rub the come into Jamie’s side and across his abdomen before he collapses forward and buries his face in Jamie’s neck.

Jamie strokes his back. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he says softly, “but I kind of have a thing for you.”

Tyler makes a muffled noise that he hopes conveys agreement, kisses the soft skin under Jamie’s ear, and smiles to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. What am I supposed to do when Tyler does shit like this
> 
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> Also I'm [on Tumblr](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com) if you'd like to come talk to me!
> 
> Re: the title—"wheel" refers to a skater's skating ability, as well as their talent for picking up willing partners


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